


Cold Passions

by manic_intent



Series: Clockwork Soldiers [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On hindsight, James supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised that Q's reaction to his throwaway retort on the offhand suggestion of some forgettable kink had been to pass him a neat checklist in an envelope via his so-called Minion Express.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Passions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for jainas, prompt: What makes you think that this is my first time? 
> 
> Got lazy with worldbuilding, decided to tack it on to the Clockwork Soldiers' verse. Ended up rather more rambly than smutty.
> 
> The 00s have offices in Ian Fleming's books. Quote from Moonraker about Bond's usual routine: "elastic office hours from around ten to six; lunch, generally in the canteen; evenings spent playing cards in the company of a few close friends, or at Crockford's; or making love, with rather cold passion, to one of three similarly disposed married women; weekends playing golf for high stakes at one of the clubs near London."

I.

_What makes you think that I haven't done it before?_

On hindsight, James supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised that Q's reaction to his throwaway retort on the offhand suggestion of some forgettable kink had been to pass him a neat checklist in an envelope via his so-called Minion Express. The checklist contained a list of kinks set against columns labelled 'Done', 'Yes', 'Maybe' and 'No', and after a quick scan once he was alone in his office, James was briefly thankful that any latent sense of shame had long been purged from his system.

After half an hour, James was somewhat surprised to realize that he'd had to look some of the words up via the smartphone that he _did_ know how to use, thank you very much... _and_ , as it turned out, became uncomfortably aware that he was probably rather more of a 'prude' by way of Q's definition than he had originally thought. Still, he sealed the checklist back into the envelope and slipped it back to the same minion on the canteen floor, and went back to the 00s' offices to shift paperwork around his desk and marinade gently in his boredom.

Regular desks and offices for the 00s had been a conceit of the new M, replacing the token shared and often unused offices that had previously been set aside. James hadn't been exactly sure what the point had been. Maybe M hoped that exposing off-mission 00s to paperwork and office clerks might familiarize them with the former and inure them to the latter, allowing them to be phased into gentle retirements. 

Not that it would work, for all the sentiment: 00s didn't retire. Eventually, the predator either clawed its way out and had to be put down - like in Silva's case, or they died in the field, or they drowned in their own attempts to bury the predator with alcohol and vice. 

Poking the computer's mouse desultorily, James narrowed his eyes as a window abruptly popped up over the sleek granite wallpaper, and a phrase appeared.

_Do concentrate, 007._

_Speak for yourself_ , he typed into the reply field, if a little more laboriously. 

_Go and beg M for a mission._

_Tried. He's away._ The Petraeus scandal, while initially amusing, had turned out to be annoying after all; 10 Downing St, which had already been nervous about the state of M16 after the previous months' events, had become caught up in a more genteel version of the White House's panic and had summoned M to the premises. Presumably to examine any ties that MI6 might have had which might have been compromised. Or the state of M's marital affairs, if any. 

Q didn't answer, and the window closed itself. James stared at the screen with a little disappointment, then at his paperwork, and decided to take a walk; the morning had begun so promisingly, too. 

The young head of Q-branch had... esoteric interests, which, true to his word, he indulged only rarely, or at least, only rarely with James: try as James might, he couldn't quite ascertain whether Q in fact had other concurrent partners. Nowadays, Q always seemed to know unerringly where he was, despite James taking to running routine tracer checks on his clothes and person, and following Q anywhere always became an exercise in frustration. Seemingly innocuous automatic doors would close in his face, for example, or his Oyster card would randomly malfunction. 

James sat in Hyde Park for a while, watching the sheep walk by, tapping away at their phones, oblivious to the world, and ruefully hated the proliferation of technology just a little. Eventually, in a fit of self-indulgence, he had dinner at the Savoy, and retreated to his apartment to finish the evening with a bottle of scotch - only to find Q sitting cross-legged on his bed, typing on his laptop, still dressed in his too-large jacket and cardigan.

"You have no wifi," Q said accusingly by way of greeting, without even glancing up. "Clearly you think that you live in the Middle Ages. I had to hack into your neighbour's."

"How did you get in?" James hadn't noticed any changes to his usual precautions.

"Please. Your idea of what constitutes acceptable security also belongs in the Middle Ages."

"Says the person whose apartment's security system can be defused by switching off the electricity." James drawled, padding over to the alcohol cabinet to have his scotch. 

"What were you expecting? A bear trap under the welcome mat? Guided missiles from the dishwasher?"

When he opened the cabinet, however, Q added, absently, "Stop that. Come here," and James felt his lip twist, although he obeyed.

Although he had to admit that Q's... sessions were cathartic, on some bone-deep level, much of him still rankled at the treatment. Q directed him with light touches to curl around him, to rest his head against Q's skinny thigh and to keep his hands to himself, and as much as James let out a derisive snort when he was finally settled to Q's satisfaction, he found himself relaxing when fingers traced lightly over the sharp curve of his jaw. 

A glance up showed that Q was running an eye through a scrolling list of incomprehensible white text against a black window, occasionally pausing it to add in a line of equally incomprehensible text. "Not as fancy as before," James noted idly, recalling a spinning circle of light flecks on a screen.

"Yes, well, my laptop doesn't have the capacity to run MANDALA," Q said testily, "Command prompts work just as well for me without any visual aids."

"It was impressive."

"Thank you, both Ms thought so, as well. Mere packaging, most of it: for the most part, only really useful as a visual prop to efficiently coordinate the Farm. Still, it did allow us to expand our budget," Q noted, then added, clipped, "We still don't have enough for your car."

"I didn't ask," James said dryly, as soft knuckles that had never split across a man's jaw rubbed lightly over his cheek, and this was... pleasant, he supposed, once the predator got used to it and forgot about its automatic calculation of the myriad ways he could snap Q's neck from this angle; lulled, he was almost dozing by the time Q closed his laptop and put it aside. 

"So," Q said, after a while, "That list."

"Mm."

"You _have_ been busy."

"Married women tend to be singularly bored and singularly inventive at the best of times."

"And singularly inept by way of technique and execution, I suppose. Your initial contempt for the... practice was elaboration enough."

"Perhaps." James managed a light shrug. He didn't particularly care whether Q paid any heed to the checkboxes, he found: in this, as before, he was only curious. Sex with the various forgettable bed partners that he used to visit now and then around London had simply been a matter of satisfying cold passions; he hadn't particularly cared about their games or interests as long as he scratched an itch. "Surprise me." 

"The point of it all," Q noted, sounding a little annoyed at having to explain, "Was to set out what you liked and what you didn't. If you have something set against 'No' on the list, I'll respect that. And I won't judge you on it."

"Oh." That hadn't particularly occurred to James, and this time, he got the soft flat of Q's palm, stroking a light circle down his neck. 

"Do you want to do the list again?"

"No," James decided, after a pause, thinking back. Some items on the list had mildly stirred his curiosity, but he'd found that he had no particular preference as to where or what this... arrangement with Q was; all he cared was that it calmed the restlessness within him, filled a space in the order of his life more completely than the way the last M had fit into it, albeit in a far more work-appropriate fashion in her case.

The ill-trained dog had found a master, and as much as this irritated and scratched at the edge of his consciousness when he was alone, now, he was comfortable, and it was a strange feeling, a familiar one. As he felt along the edges of his memory, James recalled a warm, soft smile, the glow of lush skin, and Vesper laughed at him down over the years, from her death. He'd felt this sense of peace once, when he had been younger, convinced of his invincibility and in love, and usually, any memory of Vesper soured his mood instantly.

Now, however, he stared back at it quietly, meshed in an elegant calm, and then put it away. "I'm fine."

Q was silent for a moment, and James relaxed again, closing his eyes as he felt fingertips trace his jugular, ticklish rather than threatening, then there was a wry, murmured, "Rest," as Q shifted his weight to pick up his laptop again. James slept, warm, dreamless, content.

II.

James woke up cramped and feeling rumpled; Q hadn't bothered to move them very much, and was sprawled beside him, bony elbows and knees everywhere in a casual sprawl, pillows and duvet kicked into submission over his hips, just as annoyingly self-assured when unconscious as he was when awake. The laptop lay discarded near the headboard, awful black glasses balanced over it, their shoes kicked off onto the carpet. Carefully, James disentangled himself, rubbing a palm over his face as he sat up, and reached over, curling his fingers around Q's throat, just an inch away from touching the skin, watched quietly as Q didn't even so much as twitch as the beast within him stirred, restless.

Shifting away, James frowned, glancing over to the bathroom, then he let out a huff as he noted that Q was hard under the folds of his ridiculous cardigan, the curve of his cock a sharp curve in his crumpled trousers. With a faint smirk pulling at his mouth, James deftly undid the buttons and tugged down the zip, then peeled down boxers and trousers to free Q's sleek, flushed cock. He paused for a moment as Q made a mumbling sound, in his sleep, then shook his head and bent, curling fingers around Q's cock to guide it into his mouth.

James was still as out of practice as ever, but he had always been a quick study; Q liked it when he pressed his tongue in a wet rub under the weight of flesh in his mouth, preferred it when he hollowed his cheeks and hummed. The beast went back to sleep as James went through the motions, the flat, cold calm in his mind distant from the mechanics of pleasure - until long fingers tickled down over his scalp to press over the knobs of his spine.

"Hmm," Q's voice only had a faint rasp to it to indicate that he had just been sleeping, and his hips twitched up a fraction when James swallowed around his cock, but his dry, "Come up here, James," was absolutely steady. 

James obeyed, pulling back with a wet pop and slinking up, hands braced on the sheets as Q curled up to prop himself on an elbow, a hand still curled over the back of James' neck in a gentle pressure. Q was a lazy kisser, preferring to let James do all the work with only an occasional lick or a nip to encourage him as James licked into his mouth and purred, and he always pulled back first, his eyes unfocused as though working out an algorithm that only he could see.

"I don't think that I said that you could do that," Q breathed against his cheek, a thigh pressing up along the inseam of James' trousers to a stop just before his cock, and it was embarrassing how hard he was now, just from a kiss and a touch and a few words.

"Sorry," James replied easily enough, not sorry at all as Q rolled them over, bony knees pressed against James' ribs as he attacked the problem of James' belt and trousers with deft fingers; James let out a breath when their cocks aligned slick and hard against each other, then he groaned when Q gripped his arms, just over his elbows, and rolled his hips.

"Use your hands. Spit... yes, like that. Don't come," he added, when James closed his hand around the both of them and bucked tentatively. "Better." 

The closer Q got to orgasm, the quieter he became, until the only sounds in the room were James' bitten-off groans and Q's heavy breathing, shoving his hips into the tight circle of James' hand, his eyes heavy and half-lidded and distant again, and James found himself fighting for control, despite himself, clawing his free hand into the sheets and digging his heels into the bed, and when Q finally let out a harsh sound and spilled over his hand and cock, he _whined_.

Q merely smiled lazily at him, palming his painfully hard cock teasingly, making him jerk and moan as he pushed a thumb against the leaking tip, ignoring James' wrecked " _Please_ ," as he brought up his thumb for a languid taste, the pink of his tongue flicking over his pale skin, the bloody fucking _tease_ , God, the boy was beautiful-

"Get cleaned up," Q said finally, wiping himself off on the corner of James' ruined shirt, and burrowed into the duvet with a yawn. James watched the arch of Q's back in disbelief, briefly considered begging, then grimaced and got up stiffly. He thought about palming himself off in the shower - he could keep quiet if he wanted - but rather to his own wry surprise, reached out to turn the water cold instead.

III.

Upon realizing that there was nothing remotely edible in James' kitchen, Q insisted that James head out into the blisteringly cold weather to buy caffeine and breakfast, pulled a face when he realized that the croissants were icy from the return trip, then got caught up with emails and forgot about his rapidly cooling tea, regardless.

James ate mechanically and read the morning paper, and was lifting the takeaway cup of coffee to his mouth when Q said, idly, "Maybe we should try a cock cage next time," and when James nearly spilled the coffee over himself, added, without looking up, "You know, the device that goes around-"

"I know what it is," James cut in, a little peevishly despite himself, and tried to ignore how his traitorous cock twitched at the thought, encased, unable to come no matter what Q might do to him. God. 

"You get reduced pleasure from sex because it's an easy commodity for you to acquire when you need some sort of catharsis," Q added clinically, ignoring him.

"And you think that raising my blood pressure might help?"

"Your blood pressure level was one of the only aspects of the tests that you passed with flying colours, darling," Q noted, again with that mocking note to his endearments, then he looked up soberly when James didn't answer. "That is-"

"Surprise me," James interrupted, with a tip of his coffee cup, as the beast settled back down to sleep, and this time, Q didn't snap at him; instead, there was a seductive sketch of a promise, in the answering curl to the lush curve of Q's mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Q.


End file.
